The Letter
by Skylarcat
Summary: He stared at her vacant chair, wondering yet again for about the millionth time, if he should leave the letter on her desk. It just wasn't them, to be so impersonal, but she was barely speaking to him these days, leaving him little choice; he had to at least try, he was desperate.


**Title:** The Letter  
**Author:** Skylarcat  
**Classification:** One shot. Angie Flynn, Oscar Vega. Fluff.  
**Rating**: PG 13  
**Feedback:** Would be greatly appreciated.  
**Summary: **I couldn't sleep and this spilled forth first thing this morning, without so much as a pause. I began writing it, with a broken heart from this season's finale, but I'm a dreamer, so I adjusted the ending, I could never leave them broken. It might be a bit over the top in the fluff, but fluff helps to heal my broken heart. So enjoy.  
**Note:** Flynn and Vega are characters that do not belong to me. Yes, I have used them without permission. However, no copyright infringement is intended. And I will return them intact and a lot more satisfied.

**XXXX**

She disappeared down the hall, to one of the interrogation rooms, pretending to be busy. There was a time, not too long ago, where they did that together, interviewing a person of interest. He stared at her vacant chair, wondering yet again for about the millionth time, if he should leave the letter on her desk. It just wasn't them, to be so impersonal, but she was barely speaking to him these days, leaving him little choice; he had to at least try, he was desperate.

He crossed the short distance over to her desk, hesitant at the last moment. He could feel the tremble of his hand as he picked up her pen and scribbled her name across the white envelope. And without another thought, he darted back across the room, determined to not change his mind.

He picked up his coat and turned, sensing her presence as she entered the bullpen once more. She paused; catching his eye then looked down nervously. He took the moment to study her; she looked utterly lucent in her gray form-fitting shirt and tight black jeans. Of course she wore her standard combat boots and her favorite black blazer. He was glad that some things never changed. The light caught the glow of her necklace, distracting him for a moment, and he averted his eyes to the floor, realizing he had been staring.

She walked toward him and with each step, he fell even more in love with her, not that it was possible to love her any more than he already did. She approached him with that stately confidence she always carried that made her seem tougher than she actually was, he always saw right through her.

He gravitated in her direction, as though being drawn; his dark soul seeking her warmth as if it were the sun, missing her presence from his life. He cleared his throat as she stopped in front of him, words evading him at that moment. Caught off by their shared history and uncertain future, he couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to.

She reached up, touching his arm briefly before dropping it back down at her side. He ached from the loss of contact, not realizing how much he missed her touch. She offered a faint smile, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. To feel her lips pressed up against his. He didn't move prolonging the moment, knowing it would soon be gone. He just needed to live it a little bit longer. Fleeting moments were all they had, that was the beauty and agony of it all; it is what had kept them together and yet at the same time, kept them painfully, desperately apart.

Recognizing the pain behind her eyes, he held her gaze a moment longer, trying to convey that it didn't have to be this way. That it was her choice. He watched as her light blue eyes turned darker, sharper, and he more sensed than saw the faint smile starting at the corners of beautiful lips. He defiantly wanted to kiss her.

Lucas came in at that instant, his head lowered, looking at a file; totally unaware of the moment he was interrupting. "Found it," he said, pulling out a paper and handing it to Angie. He looked over, noticing Oscar for the first time. "Sorry, I didn't see you standing there, Oscar." He looked down embarrassed, apparently detecting the tension between the two.

"Its fine, Lucas. I was just leaving, actually," he said, without taking his eyes from his partner's face. "Night." He stepped back and turned, heading in the direction of the elevator.

"I'll guess I'll see you in the morning," she said in a faint voice.

He turned, catching her eye and nodded. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

**XXXX**

Angie found her voice for the first time in what seemed like days. "Thanks, Lucas, I think I can take it from here." She knew she sounded hoarse, shaky, and she hoped he didn't notice.

He stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. "Okay. Have a good night." She watched as he walked away, leaving her alone in the precinct, grateful that he didn't make it into a big deal. She knew where he stood when it came to Vega, talking at great length the night before, and she really wasn't interested in revisiting the topic; why continue to rehash something she considered to be closed, except it really wasn't.

She had made a mess of things. And now she didn't even know where to begin to mend the damage. In the last few weeks, everything had changed between them, so much had happened. It wasn't that she didn't care for Oscar, because she did. She loved him very much. Enough to know that he deserved better than her.

The precinct fell silent around her, broken only by the humming of fluorescent lights that draped above her head. She tilted her head back, raking her hands through her hair. She would hurt him, and he would resent her for it. That's why they could never be together. Because she always ruined things and he was too important to her, to destroy. He would learn to understand her reasons, and she would go on as the same Angie just a little more broken on the inside.

She walked over to her desk and took a seat heavily, bowing her head, her shoulders slumping downward, weighed down by the invisible load she carried there. She paused, her eyes reading over the lettering of her name on a white envelope. Her hands trembled as she picked it up, recognizing the handwriting as his. She took a deep breath, and opened the letter.

**My Dearest Angie,**

**I hope you will read this, take the time to digest the words, because I found them difficult to configure into sentences; they never came out quite as right, quite as important as you are to me. The fact, the truth that you are so hesitant to believe in at the current moment, is that the more intimately you know someone, the more you come to know their flaws. The more you see their faults. That's just the way it is. But Angie, love is different. Love is choosing to be with someone in spite of all of that. Love is hard. But no one said it would be easy. But hear this, if you hear nothing else, Angie. I choose you. I'd choose you every time, no matter what. And I know you're scared; scared to have someone love you so completely and scared to love in return, but I need you to be brave. I need you to want me. I need you to love me, too.**

**Yours always,  
Oscar**

**XXXX**

He was surprised when she knocked on his door, and even more surprised when she walked into his living room. This was the most interaction that they had shared in weeks, and he felt his entire body compress inside itself. "Hi," he said, and was rewarded with a faint smile, the first that he had seen from her in days.

"I got your letter," she replied, pulling it from her blazer pocket and clenching it to her chest. Her breath caught, and he noticed the sadness in her eyes.

"Angie," he started, but she silenced him by placing her fingers across his lips.

Her hand came up again to cup him behind his neck as she spoke, "I do want you. I do love you, Oscar."

He was certain he would die right then and there, death by happiness, and he would have collapsed right in the floor, if he weren't for how she was staring so lovingly at him. "Then what do you say that we give this a chance, because I think it's worth fighting for. I think we're worth fighting for." His fingers glided across her hips, where they flexed impatiently, testing her out.

She grinned up at him, sliding her hands down to cup his face, as if he would ever look away. Her eyes grew warmer, hinting on tears, and he reached up, brushing his thumb over her cheeks. "Can I kiss you? I would really like to kiss you."

A mischief grin spread across her delicate lips as she nodded her head, the only invitation he needed and he tilted his head, kissing her on the mouth. She was only slightly startled as he pulled her abruptly into his arms, kissing her a little more intensely. But who could blame him; he waited five long years to do this.

It was a lovely night, filled with firsts for them. Their first kiss, their first touch on uncharted territory. The first time they made love. And in the morning, a different kind of sacrament; one that involved making her breakfast in bed, and then making love to her again, and he realized he would never grow tired of it, because how they were together made him whole. Made him complete. And the greatest thing he could have ever asked for was her presence in his life.

**XXXX**


End file.
